


Sombra Kisses (Almost) Every Girl

by Xekstrin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, you already know what tf this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 09:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13761705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xekstrin/pseuds/Xekstrin
Summary: A series of unrelated ficlets where Sombra kisses (almost) every girl in Overwatch. Some platonic and safe for work, others decidedly less so.  [Sombra/ Widowmaker, Ana, Mercy, Pharah, Zarya, Orisa, Symmetra, DVA, Mei, Tracer & Emily, Athena,  Junker Queen, Volskaya, Brigitte, Ashe, Moira]





	Sombra Kisses (Almost) Every Girl

  
**Widowmaker**

They're trapped in the ruins of their failure. The bomb had gone off too soon, their plans revealed, betrayed by someone in their inner circle. Gabriel's mask is cracked in half, a shatter of bone fragment still swinging loosely from one ear while the other lies at his feet. With their arms tied to a frigid pipe, rushing with cold water, they sat back to back and struggled to breathe.

"If our subterfuge specialist could get us out of here," Gabriel says, his voice as always unnervingly smooth, "That would be greeeat."

"Aren't you ex-Blackwatch?" Sombra snaps, the cut on her forehead stinging with sweat. She squirms, her feet scrabbling on gravel as she tries to reach a nearby broken shard of cement with her toes. Just out of reach. "Don't they train you to break out of handcuffs? And why aren't you going ghost, huh? Poof us out of here already, idiot!"

"You won't be breaking out of these."

Sombra and Gabriel both glance up with matching expressions of distrust. Lena Oxton, otherwise known as Tracer, stares down at them with nothing but hard fury in her eyes.

Amélie stands just behind her, watching this all unfold. Sombra hardly recognizes her with the programming wiped away, her skin white as bone. The only thing that remains the same are her eyes, genetically modified to be sharper than a hawk's, and just as golden.

 _Help_! Sombra wants to shout, she tries to shout. But she doesn't dare; not after how she'd failed her partner. Not after learning the truth. The files on the Widowmaker project had been enough to make her gag, but she'd turned a blind eye, hadn't she? She'd ignored it because to act would compromise her position within Talon.

She'd been a fool to think her little gestures, the talks they'd had, meant anything. That Amélie understood, or even cared, about her vague promises and urges to be patient. That soon she'd have enough power to break her free from her own mind. Amélie had blinked and nodded like she understood, but that had just been a side effect of her programming, too. Just a little doll who did whatever she was told.

She might as well have been talking to a wall, these past few years. She realizes it now that Amélie's eyes are free, shimmering with emotion though she schools her face into neutrality.

"You'll stay right there until backup arrives," Tracer continues, twisting a dial on her watch. Sombra scans it immediately, recognizing it as repurposed slipstream tech. _The same anchors that keep Tracer locked in one form are being used against Gabriel,_ she realizes in a flash.

Gentler, Tracer lowers her voice when she turns to Amélie. Setting a palm on her back, she guides the other woman away. "Come on, love. Let's get you out of here. You don't need to see this."

"Where am I going?" Amélie asks, softly.

"Somewhere safe." Another hand joins the first, to squeeze Amélie's arm reassuringly. "It's all over now. I promise."

Just as she's about to be lead away, Amélie digs her heels in. Twisting, she turns and hugs Tracer tight, making the smaller woman go completely still.

Tracer makes a confused noise, but after a whispered conversation, she allows Amélie back to the prisoners. Sombra and Gabriel both glare up at her, and Sombra is sure he's thinking the same thing: Had Amélie been the traitor? Did she trade in her freedom for theirs?

"I just want to say goodbye," Amélie says. "Thank you, Sombra."

For what? Sombra doesn't have the faintest idea. She never actually broke Amélie free. Clearly Overwatch has beaten her to the punch, though they probably were a lot more nauseatingly heroic about it.

Still, she forces herself to smile for Amélie, knowing it must seem ragged and feral. "It's been real, babe."

She tries to think of something else to say.

Then Amélie leans down and kisses her, and Sombra can't think of anything at all.

It's deep, more intense than it has any right to be given her predicament. But it's a spot of pleasure and hope in a dark situation; she takes it, as she hopes Amélie had taken from her during those years together as comrades.

Her tongue slides inside Sombra's mouth, and in shock, Sombra finally understands.

Then Amélie leaves, following Tracer outside.

"Well," Gabriel says. "I didn't know it was like that."

"Ih hih nint eever."

His head twitches to the side. "I'm sorry?"

Mumbling, Sombra turns to the side and puckers her lips to display a small metal key, clenched tight between her teeth. "Ih didhe idh hiehi ntemnt," she says again, or tries to. Bending over, she unlocks Gabriel's handcuffs and he does the same for her, allowing her enough freedom to get her systems running, to call for an evac.

"I didn't either," Sombra says at last, rubbing her wrists and staring off in the direction Amélie had left.

 

* * *

**Ana**

The butcher bird was calling, and Sombra had every intention of answering the call. Shrike was one of her more valued customers. Always on time, always with cash to burn, always hungry for knowledge, and always unerringly polite. In her profession, Sombra was more likely to be greeted with bullets than anything else. So she desperately valued Shrike, and her occasional offer of tea if they were meeting in Shrike's hotel room.

Good customers were hard to find.

"Hey, preciosa," she said, walking circles around the mercenary. They stood in an alleyway outside a crowded bazaar, watching the flood of people and heat and color and movement. Shrike stood, as always, some distance away from the action. Always detached, even in the heat of battle.

The babble of people and animals hid her voice and footsteps well enough, but Sombra also threw her cloaking tech on. With Shrike's helmet on, no one could see her lips move, and so no one knew this conversation was taking place.

"Did you miss me?"

"More than I could bear," Shrike said, dry and smoky as a bonfire. "Did you get me the information I requested, kit?"

Sombra slid it into Shrike's pocket before resting a hand on the other woman's hip. Just to let her know where she was standing. And also just to touch her. "Wire me the money to the usual account. Then you can go murder whatever poor bastard you're hunting."

Since Shrike never revealed her appearance, Sombra could only guess as to what her expression was. But she swore she heard a smile. "I try not to kill, these days."

"Could've fooled me." Then, without pause, "Do you want to go grab a drink?"

Sombra had to hand it to Shrike, nothing seemed to phase her. She responded smoothly, as calm as ever. "I don't drink."

"Then... do you want to grab a..." She struggled for the words. "Food? Sometime? It'd be my treat."

Shrike didn't respond. The blue lights of her mask flickered, and she turned her head incrementally to the side. Though they couldn't see each other, Sombra felt distinctly judged.

"Should I ask you when you're not on the hunt?" Sombra pressed.

Shrike laughed under her breath.

"I'm not kidding. I'm curious." There wasn't much to see under Shrike's baggy clothing, but Sombra had been pressed up tight against her enough times to know there was a firm body underneath. And hands, calloused, strong enough to bruise. "Aren't you?"

"You can do better than an old bird like me." She hummed. "I'm not very pretty under the mask."

Sombra did her best to project offense, since she had no body language to rely on just then. "So you think I'm that shallow?" Because she enjoyed contradicting herself, she added, "I know you _sound_ hot. That's all that matters in the dark."

The other woman shifted uncomfortably. "Arrogant." She mumbled. Then she rolled her shoulders, hooking her thumbs under the latches of her mask and pulling it free. "You won't like what you see, child."

Excited, Sombra stepped closer only to get a hand tight around her wrist. That Shrike knew exactly where to grab despite Sombra being invisible was impressive enough, but then she followed it up by interfering with her cloak. Pixelated images crackled down around her, and then Shrike was dragging her further into the shadows.

She pressed Sombra to the alley wall, thin lips definitely curved in a smile. Shrike was sun-scorched, her face leathery from scars and age. A knot of ruined scar tissue bubbled over one eye, the other sharp as a knife, peeling Sombra apart.

There was a tattoo under that eye. Curiously, Sombra trailed a thumb nail over it. It struck a chord in her, almost nostalgic. Like something she'd loved as a child; superheroes, figures larger than life. A relic of a more innocent time, when the answers weren't always so complicated.

"Ooh," Sombra said. She ran her hands up Shrike's arms, feeling rock hard muscle underneath the fabric. "What's not to like?"

That pleased her. Shrike smiled wider, then leaned down to give Sombra a kiss on the forehead.

"You're my daughter's age," she said, upon pulling away.

"Interesting," Sombra said, like she didn't know, like she wasn't running a dozen calculations at once. She recognized the other woman on sight, of course, but she knew better than to use a name that had been discarded. She hated it when people did that to her; she wouldn't pass the feeling on. "Is she anything like you? Is she single?"

Shrike rolled her only eye, then pressed the mask back to her face. "Until next time, kit."

"Happy hunting," Sombra said with a little wave, vanishing from sight again as they went their separate ways.

 

* * *

  
  
**Mercy** (nsfw-ish)

When she's sick she visits Angela. Usually, she's homesick.

Coiled up with her under the blankets, she presses her chest to Angela's bare back. Her skin, so white and pure, is marked all over with proof of Sombra's presence. Sombra operated like that in everything she did; only arriving in the night, only leaving footprints. Never staying.

She licks up the length of one claw mark, left from when this had all started. She couldn't get her gloves off in time before Angela had her pinned down, fucking her senseless, making her forget everything except searing pain and blind pleasure.

[When she looks at Angela, she sees a shadow of herself.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDGl3yvNjXg) A refraction, the way light cast on a crystal can split away in two separate directions.

Sometimes she wonders if they would have been friends. If they met before this.

But no. As a child, Angela was the kind of girl Sombra would have taken pleasure in being cruel to. Pulled on her pigtails like a little boy, because she didn't know how else to vent the frustration of seeing something she wanted.

As a teenager, they would have already been too different. Sombra down in the dark, Angela rising to the top.

"I bet you had pigtails as a girl," she mumbles into Angela's ear. Her voice sounds husky to her own ears, rough from screams and moans that the bare walls failed to soak up. She kisses Angela's neck, making her shake softly with a laugh.

"You say the oddest things."

Turning around to face her, Angela pulls her closer. Sombra rests her face against Angela's breasts, sighing in bliss. "It makes sense if you take a peek into my brain."

"A terrifying concept. I'll pass."

 _It could have been like this all the time if you were different,_ says the darkness to her.

 _It can be like this all the time if I stay,_ she counters, tilting her head back to kiss Angela firmly.

Angela gasps against her mouth, hips eagerly canting forward as Sombra slips her hand down between her legs.

 

* * *

  
  
**Pharah**

Fareeha is the only one who gets it. They might have different methods, but they want the same thing. Justice.

But like most illusions, it means something different to everyone who sees it.

Still— Fareeha is the only one who gets it. She _has_ to be different from the rest.

Sombra won't live the night if it turns out she's wrong.

"Tell me you're on the way," Sombra says between grit teeth, one palm pressed to her bleeding torso. She doesn't need a medic to tell her what her body screamed; that she had a broken rib. "I can't hold this point any longer."

"Stay where you are."

Despite the nausea, the dizziness, she has enough sense in her head to duck when another cadre of enemy soldiers appear.

They try to make another push through the choke point she'd set up. A few of her hacked turrets rattle furiously, or hum with violent hard light, but Sombra doesn't hear anyone screaming in pain. She peeks over her barricade to see the enemies have some bootleg Crusader shield to huddle under like a beetle, slowly advancing forward. "Easier said than done, Fareeha."

Wiping her bleeding nose, Sombra taps into her ports and works her magic on the shield. After months of sparring with Reinhardt, this is a piece of cake. She aims, scattering gunfire wildly as the turrets do their work.

 _Hopefully, the enemy won't realize they're only dealing with one soldier and make a final push._  
  
Blinking in confusion, Sombra starts to laugh. "Oh god," she says.  
  
"What?" Fareeha responds over the comms immediately. "What is it? Are you alright?"  
  
_I just mentally referred to myself as a soldier._

Then she reels, dragging herself back to reality long enough to stop laughing.  
  
Slumping down behind her barricade, she curls up into a ball. She’d already bled through all her bandages. Now all she can hear is the roar of gunfire, her own pulse growing weaker, the buzz of nanomachines doping her with enough morphine to keep the pain at bay but not doing anything else.

"Sombra? Sombra! Report!"

Rage burns through her exhaustion at that familiar, commanding bark. Like before, Fareeha just slips right back into their assigned role, jailer and prisoner.

"Sombra? Please talk to me!"

Nothing but an unimaginable amount of venom keeps her clinging to life.  
  
" _Fuck you,_ Fareeha!” she shouts into the comms, banging it against the floor. “Fuck you for leaving me here! If I die I'm haunting the halls of Overwatch as long as you fucking live!"  
  
"I'm on the way, I promise.” How she can sound so tortured when she isn’t the one dying is beyond Sombra. “I’m so sorry. Just be strong a little longer."

Helplessly, Sombra looks around her at the empty room, hoping she can find something she missed. Her cloaking tech is totally fried, and she's running out of bullets. She's going to die here in this base, she realizes with fury. She's going to die with Gabriel thinking she's a traitor, a fool who let herself get captured.

The cuff around her ankle, the one locking her here, unable to leave the premises, feels heavier than ever.

"I'm bleeding out," she says, voice hoarse.

"Say something. Focus on me." Fareeha's voice crackles. The sound is clearer than ever; Sombra can swear she hears the engines of her Raptora. "Keep talking."

"I hate you," Sombra slurs, the comm pressed to her lips. "I hate your stupid face. And I hate being under arrest. And I hate that everyone thinks I'm your friend. And I hate Overwatch." She flinches as another round of gunfire rolls over her head. " _And I hate whoever these fuckers are!"_

Right next to her, her hacked turret explodes into shrapnel. The roar of explosives deafens her, leaving nothing but a piercing, shrill ring. The enemies got their hands on an RPG, it seems.

How was she supposed to know the room she bunkered down in was so valuable to these goons?

Another missile lands in the room, and there's nowhere to hide when every scrap of oxygen is burned clear away.

There's only one entrance and only one exit. Crawling under gunfire, and smoke, and exploding machinery, Sombra moves towards it. Better to die like this, running towards the enemy, than cowering.

_Shit, that sounds like something Fareeha would say._

The last thing she hears is a tinny shout, as if from far away. Then the heat of engines close enough to burn.

"Get away from her!"

Blackness envelops her.

 

* * *

 

Sombra is always aware when she is sleeping, but she rarely dreams. It's the worst kind of torture. It's what she thinks hell will be like. When she dies she will float like this forever, conscious but unaware. It will last forever. She'll never wake up.

This time, she does.

This time she is lucky.

Light and movement return to her slowly, along with a great deal of pain. Instantly she's aware that the ankle cuff is gone, and if she wants to make an escape attempt she should do it now. All she has to do is slip past Fareeha. That stoic, statuesque woman who tails her every step. Maybe she'll be gone. Maybe this is her chance.

When she can focus, she sees her luck hadn't stretched that far.

"Sombra?"

Fareeha is in her civvies, sitting on a stool next to where Sombra is lying. Quietly, Sombra scans her surroundings. Her heart rate increases, and so does the regular beeping right next to her ear. A clinic.

Fareeha relaxes in her seat, smiling with relief.

"Get me out of here," Sombra says instead of greeting. Her voice is raspy, alien to her own ears. Her throat hurts so much, and she has vague memories of pain and discomfort, something shoving past her gag reflex to spider down into her lungs— "Get me out of here."

"Uh." Fareeha glances around them. "I don't know if that's..."

Her hand flops out, meaning to grab Fareeha by her collar. It falls short, instead resting in Fareeha's calloused palm.

Sombra does something she'd never done before.

"Please," she says. "I can't be in a hospital. Please. You gotta get me out of here."

She breaks down and begs. To the only person here who shows her any scrap of mercy; the only person she respects. Who gets it. Even if their methods couldn't be more different.

In the end Fareeha carries her in one arm, the other dragging along the IV. She walks down the hallways like that, right out the doors. It's a warzone out in the base proper, the remnants of their fight still visible in scorch marks and broken buildings. Everyone had evacuated when the fighting got too hot.

Everyone except Sombra.

There locked under "house arrest", she couldn't leave without triggering the bomb on her ankle. One wrong move and she'd been blown to little bite-sized Sombra pieces.

She feels so light without it on her ankle. She feels free to fly away into nothingness. Dozing in and out of consciousness. Everything scattered. Loosely linked. Faintly she hears an argument, or the memory of one.

"For god's sake, Jack, look at her!" Fareeha shouts, as if from a million miles away. "What more does she have to go through?!"

"You're too close to the situation to—"

Muffled, garbled speech. She feels like a mermaid, head tilted to the surface of the water, listening to the humans speak. But not a cutesy mermaid; the kind with needle teeth, who drags you to your death.

"—Said stand down!"

"You don't give me orders, Amari!"

She hears the rushing again, like the sound of engine jets. It's so loud, until she opens her eyes and sees the ocean instead. They're not too far from the Gibraltar base, she can see the buildings within walking distance. The coast is more rocks than sand, but the sun is shining and the water is endlessly blue.

Fareeha has Sombra cradled on her lap.

They stare at each other in silence, before mutually averting their gaze to the ocean instead.

For hours they stay there, occasionally checking the IV bag she stole from the medbay. It stands awkwardly propped up on the rocks, the metal stand gleaming.

She doesn't thank Fareeha. That woman doesn't deserve her thanks.

Instead she angles her head back, kissing Fareeha on the cheek. She'd done it a dozen times before, each one delivering a different message. Mockery, or hatred, or temptation. Today is just a kiss. Maybe it's gratitude.

Maybe it's _kiss my ass, Amari._

"[You gotta get me out of here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JELZH8zCe_c)," she says again, weaker than before. She doesn't mean just a trip to the beach, either.

Fareeha buries her face in Sombra's neck.

Her captor holds her tight, and Sombra relaxes into the touch, melting into Fareeha's strong arms. She wants to hate her like she hates the others, but all she can muster is something warm and dripping, a trickle of heat down her sternum to match the tears falling down Fareeha's face.

Sombra kisses her on the lips. Tasting salt and iron. The two of them are fighters, but Sombra is too exhausted to fight against what had been growing between them.

She returns the kiss cautiously, one hand on Sombra's lap. The other grasps the back of Sombra's neck, holding her tight and secure.

Fareeha is the first one to break away, ducking her face down to Sombra's chest again, hiding her face.

"I can't," Fareeha says, wiping her tears off on Sombra's shirt. "I can't."

 

* * *

 

**Zarya**

There was so much of Zaryanova to admire. But today Sombra was thinking about her thighs.

They walked side by side in the cold, breath huffing out visibly with every exhale. Climbing the steps to the monastery would have been a journey in warm weather. Right now Volskaya wanted them to reach out to the omnics in the middle of January, so it was torture.

"Hey look," she said, nudging Zaryanova as they passed a statue of some patron saint or another. He held those golden orbs aloft, the ones that meant harmony or something, Sombra couldn't be assed to remember. "It's so cold that guy's balls are frozen."

Zaryanova huffed.

"You're a real bad conversationalist."

"I talk to people I like," the soldier countered.

Sombra shrugged, slowing her steps some so she could look down at Zaryanova's legs some more.

Of course Sombra could happily maintain her silence. She often spent weeks at a time with no living company at all, plugged in to her work and living off instant noodles and beef jerky. But something about that woman drew out the devil in Sombra; she loved the look on her face when she was mad.

"So do you think the omnics will help us? Or will they turn us away?"

"What is the cost for you to remain quiet?" Zaryanova said at last. Because as she well knew by now, with Sombra, there was always a price.

"Un besito," Sombra said as a joke, pointing to her cheek.

Zaryanova dragged her into her arms.

Her feet left the floor, a squeak escaping her mouth just before their lips crushed together. She gasped, instinctively resting her hands on Zaryanova's shoulders to keep her balance. She needn't have worried; Zaryanova kept her steady as a rock, like she weighed nothing.

She'd never been literally swept off her feet before. Sombra responded eagerly, muscling past her confusion to take advantage of what was given to her, running her hands through pink hair and dragging claws down the back of Zaryanova's neck.

When they parted she was warmer than she'd been at the foot of the mountain, but she was shivering. Her breath came out in a long stream of fog, her voice trembling. "Wow."

Zaryanova leaned close, and instinctively Sombra closed her eyes and tilted her head back for another kiss.

"Now shut up."

Zaryanova dropped her to her feet and resumed climbing the steps up to the monastery.

_Oooh, god damn it._

 

* * *

 

**Orisa**

"You really ought to have someone else look at this," Sombra mumbled around the flashlight in her mouth, shining it into Orisa's chest cavity. "I'm a hacker, not an engineer."

Ideally Efi would be here to handle this mess. But the five of them had gotten separated during the attack. Right now, they just had to hope that Satya and Lúcio would take care of their charge.

The omnic sat patiently under the inspection, her legs folded up underneath her like a resting deer. "Don't worry, Sombra. I trust you to do your best."

She rolled her eyes, muttering in Spanish about naive little robots. She patched up Orisa as well as she could, welding together what had been ripped apart in the explosion. "You'll have to live with the bullet holes for now," she said, once she was finished piecing her back together. "But hey, it'll look badass. Maybe you'll grow into them. Like scars."

"I prefer to maintain a well-kept appearance," Orisa said.

"Suit yourself." Sombra said. She gave Orisa a pat on the back to let her know she was done. Then, on a whim, she bent down and kissed the top of her head. "All better, kiddo."

Orisa stood up, her eye lenses focusing into little triangles to denote a smile.

 

* * *

 

**Symmetra**

She looked like an angel in the snow.

Satya's every breath came out as a pillar of steam. Even here, in this remote outpost, she refused to look anything less than perfectly put together. With powder blue earmuffs and a navy blue overcoat, she cut an impressive figure with her height and her sharp shoulder pads. Surrounded by mercenaries, outcasts, weirdos, rebels, and whatever Sombra was, Satya stuck out like a model on the runway.

Bundled up in three layers of black and gray wool, Sombra felt like a furious mass of burnt marshmallows by comparison.

Nothing about working for Overwatch appealed to her. She knew the stories about how they'd saved the world of course, everyone did. And maybe there was a grain of truth to it. But Overwatch never did anything for her, or millions of other kids left stranded after the war. Overwatch never sunk down into the mires of the ghettos and the nuke sites, never rebuilt, never set up infrastructure, never did anything except hunger for blood and violence and call their rule "peace".

Overwatch held a similar opinion of her, surely. But Sombra never tried to present her activities as anything other than pure selfishness. She wasn't a hero, but she and Satya came as a package deal. If Overwatch wanted her help, Satya said, then they'd have to accept Sombra as well.

Wherever the architech went, Sombra would follow. Like a needle pointing north.

Like... like a shadow.

Of course.

She huffed.

Right now Satya was building a snow castle outside their barracks. A few others had gathered to watch, fascinated as it took shape. One would be tempted to assume it was hard light, but other than using it as a base or for tricky angles, Satya only manipulated snow itself.

"Sombra, does it look even from where you're standing?" she called out, walking around the perimeter with a wary eye. "I don't trust myself today."

"It looks fine."

"You're not just saying that, are you?"

"Of course I'm saying it. What, you want it in writing?"

Satya gave her a deadpan expression. Not upset, but not happy, either. Shuffling in the cold, Sombra squirmed under that dark gaze, her eyes black as a night ocean.

"It looks beautiful," Sombra muttered. "Everything you do is beautiful."

Satya smiled, then got back to work.

 _I don't want to be here,_ Sombra kept thinking, running through simulations and training exercises on her tablet. _I don't want to be here. I don't want to freeze my ass off for people I hate. I don't want another group of assholes taking advantage of my woman. I don't want to be here!_

Later, once the cold grew to be too much to bear, they went inside. Most of their time together was spent in silence; Satya preferred it, and Sombra enjoyed it. "Will you braid my hair again?" Satya asked, sitting in the vee of her open legs with Sombra's chest to her back. "Make it nice and straight, down the center. Please."

Sombra hummed an affirmative, combing through the thick black length of it before working it into sections.

When they weren't facing each other, Satya felt safe enough to open up.

"I'm scared."

Sombra paused, the strands of black like silk in her hands. "Of...? Of what? Overwatch? Is something happening? Do we need to bail?"

She made a noise of disagreement instead of shaking her head no. It wouldn't be proper to mess up Sombra's patterns. "I just don't trust myself today." She said it again, but with a wholly different cant. "Even though the way Overwatch is treating me is already so different than how Vishkar did."

Sombra didn't need reminding. She still burned at the memory. They isolated Satya from the whole world, lied to her about their true goals, and stripped her of all power and agency while reaping the benefits of her genius.

Disgusting.

"Whatever sins the original Overwatch committed, this one seems willing to rectify. The transparency is..." Satya searched for the words. "...Refreshing."

"But?" Sombra prodded.

"But I also felt no reason to mistrust Vishkar, until that young man came along." Satya reached behind her, to stroke along Sombra's face. Sombra kissed her fingertips idly, focusing intently on her task. "Until I found you."

She was glad Satya's back was turned. Sombra hated it when her girlfriend caught her blushing. "Lúcio seems like a nice dude," she admitted. "I thought you didn't like him."

"I didn't like you either, when we first met."

Despite herself, she kind of liked Lúcio, too. There was definitely the fire of rebellion in his eyes, an inflexible core of steel underneath the jokes and the cheerfulness. It took a lot of guts to stand up to Vishkar alone... If Overwatch had someone like him on their side, then maybe there was some credit to Satya's hope after all.

"I ask so much of you." Satya sounded tormented, her straight shoulders curling inward. "Are you still willing to guard me where I'm most vulnerable, amor?"

The pet name, rarely spoken aloud, always raced through her like a shot of adrenaline. It rushed to her head, leaving her too dizzy and tongue-tied to respond.

"Be my eyes," Satya murmured, stroking her face again. "Watch for treachery. Guard me, again. You're the only person I trust."

Once Sombra finished, she lifted the end of Satya's braid to her lips, kissing it in veneration. Every part of Satya was deserving of worship; every part of her Sombra was allowed to touch was a blessing.

"I love you so much, Satya," she said, holding her around the shoulders. "I won't let anything hurt you. I promise."

Satya leaned against her, allowing her hard lines and sharp angles to relax into the embrace.

 

* * *

 

**DVA (nsfw ish)**

The penthouse doors opened under her touch. Sombra needed to kick back and fight a lost battle, and nobody could give her that quite like a bratty celebrity. Outside it had been raining for two days straight, heralding the arrival of monsoon season. It was hot, wet, muggy rain. 

[A constant mist made the billboards outside look like a slur of color through the penthouse windows.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tc2Ffgs-ksU)

Sombra wiped her palm against the glass, reading foreign script and struggling to translate. She wanted so badly to get better at Korean for Hana's sake. The kid was a genius, with five languages under her belt. They shared two in common— Spanish and English— but Sombra wanted it to be three.

When Hana arrived home, she paused in the doorway. Sombra chose not to reveal herself just yet, waiting with hungry eyes for Hana to go about her daily routine. She wanted to see her alone, candid. No cameras, no audience.

But Hana could tell something was off. She flicked on all the lights, squinting into the shadows as though searching for her. Sombra trailed her, bare feet padding on wooden floors.

Then Hana went and stood next to the windows, right where Sombra had been. Incredible; like a hunting hound.

Impressed, Sombra let her claws drag down the center of Hana's back, enjoying the way she shivered in fear.

"You really gotta knock that shit off," Hana said, not turning around.

"I hope you don't mind that I let myself in." Pixel by pixel, she let the cloak drop. "Are you busy?"

Hana finally cast her a smart little smirk. "Never too busy for my number one fan."

"I bet you say that to all the horny bisexual girls."

"You wouldn't know," Hana said, "Unless you've been spying on me."

Sombra pressed a finger to her lips, winking.

It had been six years since the two of them had been locked together in the same safe house, weathering a storm entirely unlike the one outside. That one had been hellfire and sulfur, an omnium rising from the grave. Hana had to bunker down and wait for her replacement M.E.K.A. to be dropped in; Sombra was just hiding to save her own skin.

Three days with nothing but each other for company meant they formed fast friends. Now she had a place to stay whenever she was in Busan, and Hana of course reaped the benefits of being close to the world's best hacker.

The two of them relaxed in Hana's open living room, sitting on the floor in front of the massive TV.

"Don't cheat," Hana warned her as she tied her long brown hair into a bun. "I'll know."

"And do what?"

Hana didn't respond well to the teasing. Her eyes flashed in genuine anger. "Kick your ass."

Sombra literally meowed in response, a ragged, desperately aroused purr, and soon Hana was doubled over in giggles. They booted up the game on Hana's classic console, the kind that still used controllers. Sombra struggled to keep up, much less put up a decent fight.

"Take this!" Hana said, punching Sombra's avatar in the face.

"Man, if this were anything other than an old granny game I'd be winning." Sombra tried to deflect the next few flurries, her martial artist putting up a valiant fight against Hana's ninja.

Hana smirked again, not tearing her eyes from the screen. She tapped the x button furiously, unleashing another round of kicks at Sombra. "Keep telling yourself that."

The next few hours allowed them to feel normal. Just for a short time. Hana ordered in, again giving Sombra that dangerous look when the older woman offered to pay. "I'm not broke," Sombra reminded her.

"You can pay me back later," Hana promised. "I'll give you a chance to settle the score."

The tone of her voice made it clear it wasn't money she was after, and Sombra didn't mind. Even if Hana was mostly teasing, Sombra never balked at the idea of trading sex for money or favors. Everyone had a price, after all. And anything could be currency, if needed desperately enough.

Hana needed her desperately. When the sun started setting and she got bored of beating her at video games, she pulled Sombra on top of her, tongue in her mouth. They made out on the floor, Hana's top pushed up to reveal nothing but bare skin underneath. The chirping, friendly main theme of the game played on until Hana fumbled for the remote, turning it off and plunging them into total darkness.

When Sombra made to unbutton her pants, Hana stopped her. Taking her hand, she helped Sombra to her feet and then led her to the bedroom. They stripped down to nothing, racing each other to see who could get naked first before tumbling onto the mattress together, giggling.

It was still raining when they finished. Hana cuddled up next to her, head resting on her chest as Sombra stroked her head.

"Is that a new poster?" she asked, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

"Yeah, the Korean government thought me in the uniform would—"

Sombra took Hana's chin in her hand, gently angling it a different direction. "I mean that one."

When Hana caught on, she blushed red right down to her roots. On the wall next to the bed, Aleksandra Zaryanova flexed with her back to the camera. Shirtless, her body glistened with oil or sweat, nothing but a scrap of skintight black cloth covering her well-shaped ass.

Hana cleared her throat. "...Yes."

Sombra smiled at her terse answer, when normally Hana was pretty chatty. "Your crush on her is so cute."

"I just think she's neat," Hana responded, in a very small voice.

Settling a little closer, Sombra traced patterns on Hana's hip, thumb rubbing circles over soft skin. They weren't lovers, exactly. They weren't in love. But she liked it when Hana was happy, always deeply satisfied when she could please the younger woman. Seeing her rocket up to success and fame, she couldn't help but feel a bit of secondhand pride. Sombra would be tempted to call it maternal affection, were it not for...

Well, you know.

"You know I can make it happen, if you want to meet her," Sombra offered in a low voice.

Hana turned away from her, still scarlet in the face. "What would I even say?"

"Tell her you love her ass." Sombra spanked Hana's to demonstrate, making her squeal. "She'll appreciate the honesty. And I think you're just her type."

"Really?" Hana asked, voice going quiet again.

Sombra kissed her bare shoulder, nipping it faintly with her teeth. "Really."

 

* * *

 

**Mei**

In her dreams she mounted the rescue mission, leading the team herself. The boats or helicopters (in her fantasy it was usually helicopters) arrived just in the nick of time, and she bundled the frozen Mei-Ling into her arms and took her to safety.

Sombra wasn't a hero. She just saw the station come back online, and idly flicked it in the right direction. She pulled strings; it was what she was best at.

It wasn't as though she thought anyone at Ecopoint was still alive. The distress beacon was going unanswered, was all. Irritated by the persistent pinging, Sombra boosted the signal to somewhere someone would do good, and soon it was all over the news.

Her jaw nearly dropped.

_Mei-Ling Zhou!_

She was a living legend, one of the few Overwatch cronies Sombra actually liked. Unlike the others and their thinly veiled bloodlust and desire for conquest, Mei-Ling was someone genuine. A real woman of science, devoting herself to the craft.

Sombra's coastal, childhood home had been swallowed by the rising seas. Mei-Ling offered to actually do something about it, and then followed through.

_Swoon._

She'd read through all her files, of course, and the translated versions of her research documents. Fascinating stuff, even if it took Sombra a while to process it all. She had to keep stopping every few pages and look something up, to better understand Mei-Ling.

As a writer she was exceptionally skilled. Mei-Ling did all her own translations when she could, being a master of six languages, and her English was fluent and poetic as if it were her first.

"She's wasted on those Overwatch idiots," Sombra lamented loudly, leaning heavily on her desk, chin in her hands. "Uggghh, she's so cute, too. I bet she's straight."

Crouching nearby, Reaper was going over Sombra's gun while she made sure his tech was up to date. It was an odd ritual they had. Despite the arguments and bickering, in the end, they were teammates. They had to make sure the other was prepared.

"She's not," Reaper said.

Sombra looked at him.

"What?" he said.

"Huh."

So Sombra immediately began to cyber stalk her.

She got her chance a few months later, at a conference where Mei-Ling would be one of the keynote speakers. It was easy to forge a pass and get inside, and Mei-Ling was eager to speak to anyone willing to listen. She had an earnest crowd of listeners, all experts in their field. Sombra lingered just on the outskirts, holding a single rose behind her back.

Dressed as normally as she ever was, she still stuck out from the polos and geeky tshirts that served as a uniform for the event. Skin tight navy from neck to toe, her blonde hair braided as neatly as she could get it and slung over one shoulder. Her ports were hard to hide, but a hat and some makeup did the trick... sort of.

As soon as the crowd dispersed, she swept in.

"Dr. Zhou?"

[She produced the flower with a smile. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfP7hjjId3E)

_Hi, I have a crush on you and I know all your social media habits. Sign my face. You're adorable, you deserve kindness, you're my true unproblematic fave, you're a fascinating little time capsule of a person and I want to give you orgasms._

"Hi," Sombra said. "I'm a big fan."

She was never one for being shy. Taking Mei-Ling's hand, she kissed the back of her palm, smiling at the shock on her face.

Hopefully the rest of the weekend would go just as smoothly.

 

* * *

 

**Tracer & Emily**

Lena was curled up in bed, the blankets clenched tightly in both fists. She focused on breathing, only breathing, her pale face lined with pain.

"It's gonna be okay," Sombra said, sitting next to her with a hand on her back. "It was just a bad trip. I've been there."

Lena nodded, shortly. Every breath was ragged, and a waste bin was nearby in case she needed to be sick again. In just a few minutes, Emily returned from stepping out, her arms laden with plastic bags.

"I got it!" she said, waving the bag of salt and vinegar crisps above her head. "Are you sure this will work?"

Sombra popped the bag open with a shrug. "Whenever I get sick from translocating, something salty and sour makes me feel better. That, or something really really spicy." She fondly ran a palm over Lena's sweaty forehead. "But you're white."

"Fuck you," Lena rasped.

"Once you're back on your feet, sure."

Emily fretted, wiping Lena's brow with a cool, damp towel. "Thanks so much for coming over," she said to Sombra, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "I know you're not in town for long... I'm so sorry, we were supposed to show you a good time."

"I came here to see you; it doesn't matter if it's fun or not." Sombra shrugged. She settled down on the bed with Lena half on her lap, cuddling the other woman as she half-heartedly nibbled on the crisps. "I can't fault my second favorite girl for getting sick."

"First favorite." Lena muttered childishly, but she did seem a little more coherent. "...These are gross, I might throw up again."

"You'll feel better when you do." Bending down, Sombra kissed the top of Lena's head. "And the sooner you feel better, the sooner you can be my favorite girl again."

Lena sighed. "Okay," she said, and Emily sat next to them to help her take a few sips of water.

 

* * *

 

**Athena**

"Dim the lights a little bit, will you babe?"

Working at Overwatch HQ was a pain in the ass, but at least the amenities were nice. The AI they had running the joint was especially useful when she didn't want to get up from her desk chair.

And she had it programmed to respond to a variety of pet names.

"You've been sitting there for eighteen hours, Sombra." Athena practically sighed. "A certain amount of physical activity is—"

"Did I ask for sass?"

"You did not."

The lights dimmed.

"Thank you!" Sombra sang, kissing her computer screen when the Athena emblem showed up. "Now put your lips on me, baaaaabyyyyy."

"That's a monitor, Sombra. I don't have lips. We've been over this."

She spun her chair around, singing again. "Babyyyy...!"

 

* * *

 

**Junker Queen**

Two guards held her in place, forcing her to kneel in supplication. This was it, the point of no return. She wanted to gather intel for Talon, to prove her loyalty. They needed to know about the elusive Junker Queen; who better to send than their most covert agent?

Except...

She tilted her head, grinning up at the woman.

Except she had been caught.

The Junker Queen reclined on her throne, chin resting on one fist. Her weapon lay across her lap, a mace studded with fingers and joints from a hundred murdered omnics. Sombra had heard the stories, but seeing the grisly trophy in person still sent a shiver down her spine.

"Tell me why you've snuck into my court, stranger."

Sweat pooled on her neck, dripping down her bare chest.

"Speak," the Queen said, giving permission and delivering a demand.

"I got lost on the way to the restroom," Sombra said.

CRACK.

Leather snapped over her back, joining a dozen other lashes that crisscrossed her exposed skin. Biting her lip, Sombra let herself tremble once, but not a single sound escaped her lips.

"I'll ask you again," the Queen said. "Tell me the truth and swear loyalty to me, and I may spare your life."

Sombra wasn't above begging for her life, but she still had a job to do. She didn't want to half-ass it. "I'm here for my own curiosity," she said, rolling her shoulders to try and assuage the sting. "Is that a crime?"

The Queen did not respond, instead studying her carefully. Something about her mettle must have impressed her.

But in the end, she did have to swear loyalty. Sombra shuffled forward on her knees, head bowed, half naked, and pressed a kiss to one of the monarch's many rings.

 

* * *

 

**Volskaya (EXTREMELY nsfw)**

"Did you come?"

She leans over the woman's shoulder, hands trailing down her chest. Volskaya's breath hitches, barely audible over the hum of the vibrator. Sombra stands just behind her, unbuttoning her trousers to reach down and pull the toy free. The bullet hums in her fingers a while longer before she turns the dial down.

"Yes," Volskaya admits in a whisper.

"Such a nasty girl." Sombra lifts the toy to her mouth, licking it clean. "Do you think anybody knew, all day, while you were giving your meetings and..."

She grinds her hips against Volskaya's.

"...Running your company, that you had that inside your pants?"

Sombra had to admit, she didn't anticipate this turn of events. She'd been fully prepared to continue their little arrangement as puppet and master in the usual sense. But as things turned out, Volskaya was eager to take it up a notch.

"N-no..." She bites back a moan as Sombra replaces the toy with her fingers. Volskaya is incredibly wet, dripping wet, and just a few idle touches has Sombra slick to the knuckle. "Please. One more, please."

Turning her around, Sombra presses her up against her own desk. She laces both hands behind Volskaya's head, forcing her to lean down and kiss her. Volskaya's knees bend to accommodate the height difference, shaking from head to toe from exertion. Her tongue brushes against Sombra's lips, eagerly tasting herself on them, and then Sombra has her sitting on the edge of the polished, burnished wood as she sinks to her knees.

She pulls Volskaya's trousers down, burying her head between the woman's thighs until she screams.

 

* * *

 

**Brigitte**

"Hey, lover."

Sombra walked two fingers over the woman's shoulders, watching in fascination how the muscles there shifted with every breath.

"When are you going to introduce me to your old man?"

Sombra didn't mean Torbjörn. There was only one old man Sombra refused to refer to by name.

There was too much at stake there, they both knew. Reinhardt was old school, loyal to a fault. He believed in Overwatch, devoted mind, body, and soul to them. Sombra was repulsed by him, as Brigitte knew he would be by her.

"Never," she said, then stood up to get dressed.

 

* * *

 

**Ashe (nsfw)**

 

A slow-spinning record crooned out an old country song, thick with emotion and heavy like Sombra's whiskey-addled senses. Across from Sombra, the leader of the Deadlock gang sat with her booted feet propped up on the table, hat and jacket discarded and her tie open around her neck.

Meanwhile Sombra was two losses away from being buck-naked in the middle of the gambling room.

"Reconsiderin' all your life choices yet?" Ashe asked, tilting her head back to smirk at Sombra. In the heat of the room, under the buttery yellow lamplight, sweat shone on the hollow of her neck. Ashe worked open a few more buttons on her shirt, exhaling shortly when Sombra didn't respond. "C'mon! This ain't no fun if you don't squirm."

Sombra crossed her legs at the knee, bouncing one bare foot in the air. Her boots had been the first to be discarded. "Sorry, desperado. Feeling regret implies I know how to feel shame."

The other woman's lips, painted blood red, quirked up in a smile as she regarded Sombra from over her hand. Then Ashe poured her another drink. "At least you had the foresight to dress nice for the occasion."

"Oh, yeah." She knocked the shot back. "I always wear my best underwear when meeting the leader of a rival gang."

"Really now." Somehow she dragged out those first few syllables like a saw over wood.

Red eyes danced over her frame, more curious than anything else, though they did linger on her breasts. Not that Sombra really blamed her; she knew the lace didn't hide much.

"Yeah, yeah." She threw her hand down onto the table. "Read 'em and weep and strip or something already."

A flash of irritation drew a dark line between Ashe's brow. Then she shrugged, an easy smile on her lips again as she peeled the sweat-tight cotton from her shoulders. Ashe tossed the shirt into a corner of the room, breathing a sigh of relief. "It's way too hot in here for long sleeves, anyhow."

"Convenient."

The game went on, mostly in silence, though they made an attempt to talk business. That was allegedly the reason for this meeting. Los Muertos and the Deadlocks needed to establish some ground rules now that they were edging into each other's territory. Ashe had asked for a leader, and instead Sombra came.

"So why'd you agree, anyway?"

Glancing up from her shitty hand, Sombra watched Ashe. The other woman kept her tight black sports bra on, but her belt, her gun holster, and her boots were piled up at her feet. Puffing away at her cigar, she glared at her hand.

"To strip poker? Ah, it seemed harmless." Sombra ran a hand over her mohawk, huffing once in laughter. "I like that you don't take this too seriously."

"Bullshit." Ashe didn't lift her eyes from the cards, but she grit the cigar a little tighter between straight white teeth.

Sombra didn't know what to say to that. "Okay. Which part was bullshit?"

"Dunno." Ashe's eyes darted up only so that she could wink. "But I know when people lie."

A fairly common boast, especially among poker players. Still, Sombra wasn't confident. She set her cards facedown, arms crossed tight. "Damn it."

"You fold?" Ash stretched, as satisfied as well-fed cat. It made Sombra want to claw her eyes out.

Instead of conceding defeat, Sombra got up. Trailing her hand over the wooden grain of the table between them, she walked slowly up to Ashe until she stood right next to her.

The older woman sat back in her chair a little more, carelessly curled up in the cushions. She regarded Sombra warily, smoke coiling up thick and black. A stark contrast to her face, desperately and unsettlingly pale under all the makeup.

"Can you really tell when I lie?" Sombra asked, quietly.

Ashe pulled, inhaling deep. She withdrew her cigar, letting the smoke hiss out between her teeth. With her red tie discarded all remained was her gang's aesthetic, black on white on yellow, a dragon coiled over a mountain of gold. She had the hunger of a beast, too, naked appetite in her eyes as they lingered over Sombra.

"Yep," she said.

This had to be a trick, a way to psyche her out. But that didn't mean Sombra couldn't play along for now. "All right. I give in and admit it. I let you win on purpose."

"Mmm. No, you're lying again," she said. "I have a feeling your boss didn't send you in here, either."

Well, shit. There went her cover  _and_  her excuse  _and_  a good amount of her security, too. Without Los Muertos backing her up, Ashe didn't have an incentive not to let this turn ugly. "Then why haven't you kicked me out yet?"

Her head tilted to the side. "When cute girls come sniffing outside my door, I don't make a habit of turning them away."

 _Hmph._  Sombra shrugged. "So?"

"So?" Ashe's face darkened in a scowl. "So if you don't want to play a more  _strenuous_  game, you better get that table between us again 'fore I bend you over it. Don't be dumb, kid." Ashe tapped her cigar, ashes flaking into the tin resting on the table next to her. "...How old are you, anyway?"

Twenty. "Old enough."

It wasn't a lie. She'd been fending for herself since long before Los Muertos came along. So the Deadlock leader hummed, taking that in. Then Ashe crooked a finger in her direction, beckoning Sombra closer.

It made her realize she'd been waiting for some kind of sign like this, hovering anxiously out of Ashe's reach. Inwardly, Sombra cursed. She'd sworn no one would ever make her feel powerless again, yet here she was, letting some trashy redneck call all the shots.

Still, Sombra moved a little closer, hesitant. Waiting again, for Ashe to pull her onto her lap or pin her on the table like she promised.  

"Why don't you tell me exactly why you came here, kid?"

Closer, closer. Ashe waited, patient, but not in a way that suggested any measure of kindness. It revealed her origins as someone accustomed to being waited upon hand and foot. She would not lift herself, not for what she expected and demanded. It was the stillness of an ambush predator, one hand still extended and waiting for Sombra to take the bait.

Sombra took her hand.

That's when Ashe pulled her the rest of the way onto her lap. Her hands framed Sombra's waist, stroking and touching bare skin indulgently. Ashe still had the cigar clutched between her fingers, the heat dangerously close to burning Sombra.

"I wanted to meet you," she said, a little breathless. That wasn't a lie, either. Even if Sombra didn't believe Ashe's claims, she wasn't going to take any risks. "I wasn't expecting you to be cute."

"Well, darlin’, you have my  _un-dee-vided_  attention. May I ask what you intend to do with it?"

Sombra crushed her backwards with a kiss, hitching Ashe's free hand up over her breast.  _Stop, stop, stop,_  she told herself even as she kissed Ashe harder, open-mouthed in a demand for more.  _This wasn't how it was supposed to go, you stupid horny idiot._

Ashe flicked the cigar aside, sinking lower in her seat. Legs braced and spread, she yanked Sombra closer. Salt and sweat. Her mouth tasted like smoke and gritty ash. Hot like whiskey down her throat, hot enough to burn if she wasn’t careful.

She wasn’t being careful. Hadn’t ever learned how to.

The hold on her was like iron, bare palms rough as leather. With all her boasting, Ashe came across as someone who'd never actually held a gun in her life.

That's what Sombra had believed, anyway. Distressingly enough, she realized that wasn't true.

It was hard to get information on a crew so cut off from the grid. A weakness, a mistake. Like so many other mistakes she'd made recently, each of them harder to bounce back from.

Ashe stroked her head once, gently tracing the fresh implants there. Very few people ever touched her gently, certainly never when they fucked her. Sombra closed her eyes, relaxing into it even as Ashe cupped her sex in the palm of her other hand.

"Move," she said in a low voice, a pause between another kiss, but Sombra hadn't needed instruction. What she needed was relief from the pressure that had been building from the moment Ashe had introduced herself.  

Grinding against her palm, Sombra wasn't sure if she relished or hated the way her underwear was pressed against slick flesh like a second skin. What she did know was that she couldn't fight a moan when Ashe pulled aside the lace to run her middle finger between wet folds.

"Maybe I'll keep you for a while," Ashe said, exploring her entrance. It was barely deep enough to be called penetration. She rolled her middle finger around it idle and slow, the way a bored rich bitch like her might fidget with an empty wine glass. "I think I'd like having something like you around like a little lapdog."

Suddenly, jarringly, Sombra crashed back down to the ground. Still breathless, she clutched onto Ashe's shoulders tighter, poison bubbling up inside her.

_What the fuck did you just call me?_

Mentally she rewound the whole afternoon, and then her whole entire life leading up to this moment. Ashe was a person who hadn't ever needed to fight for anything in her life. Not for money, not for power, and certainly not stupid sexually frustrated rival gang members. All she'd done was bend her finger and Sombra had come gagging for it.

"Aw," Ashe said, and if she'd kept that lazy attention on anything except Sombra's wet cunt she might have noticed the expression of furious hatred on her face. "Look how much you like me."

"Yeah, I do." Sombra threaded her fingers through long white hair, letting them rest right at Ashe's crown. "You're exactly the kind of self-possessed, power-hungry asshole I love to tear down."

Then she initiated the hack.

The power soared through her internal cybernetics, racing through the chips fused into her nail beds. They sparked once, painfully, and Sombra hissed and waved her hand furiously like it was a fire she could put out. Another fucking mistake. She really needed to sort that bug out one of these days.

Slumped further in her seat, Ashe twitched as the program ran its course.

"What the hell...did you do that for?" She ground out between clenched teeth, huffing hard through her nose.

Sombra was still too mad to talk at first.

"Just a spoiled little rich girl," she muttered, stepping back and grabbing the first piece of clothing she could find. Swinging Ashe's long coat over her shoulders, she did the buttons up tight and neat, forgoing a shirt underneath. As an afterthought she took her hat, too, mainly for the sheer insult of it. "This is nothing to you, this is barely above stealing your parent's car for a joyride."

Reaching out, she poised her thumbs right under Ashe's eyes. Tempted. Her nails pressed in just enough to dent flesh, and Sombra was shaking so bad she thought her teeth might rattle. "You had everything you could've ever needed to change things, and instead you'd rather sit here and play bandits and cowboys and do  _nothing_."

Sombra knew she didn't have much time. Her hacking prototype wasn't ready for repeated use and she was just lucky Ashe's heart hadn't stopped. Red eyes followed her as she moved through the room, rummaging through Ashe's pockets until she found her tablet. She ran the hack again, this time much smoother. The screen glowed and danced, numbers and figures giving her a quick scan of a short, ugly life.

"Naughty, naughty, Ashe. Looks like you still have a bank account under your family name." Sombra clucked her tongue, then explained. "I have ambitions, see. And I'm gonna enjoy spending every cent of your daddy's money to reach them all."

Ashe's staggered breaths came out as a low wheeze. "Los Muertos will be a little stain on the ground when I'm done with 'em," she swore.

If she could talk that much, the hack must be wearing off sooner than expected. Sombra had to get out of there, but not before getting one last dig in.

Widening her eyes, Sombra placed her palm over her mouth. "Oh, them? I don't give a fuck what you do to them. They're just like you, they got no vision."

They were all gangs, from the little petty street groups to the governments that ran their countries. And gang loyalty could be fickle, especially when none of her peers could keep up with her. Sombra closed her fist and shut all of Ashe's records with it.

No, no. No more low-level crime. Sombra was going to be a part of something much,  _much_  bigger.

She tipped her hat to Ashe. "[Ma'am](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxwV12aC6D0)."

Then she broke out of the heart of the Deadlock gang headquarters, running in bare feet and a stolen leather jacket.

 

* * *

 

 

**Moira (nsfw ish)**

All week long, a very specific craving held her in its grasp. Sombra gnawed on her fingernails, ran laps in the gym, and sparred furiously with Gabriel and Akande. She expected it to fade, but instead it grew stronger.

It was hard to get sweets on base. She thought by now she'd be used to it.

But Sombra always wanted what she couldn't have.

More and more often, she noticed Moira showing up to their meetings with a snack or a drink. Probably from a personal stash. Fascinated, Sombra watched the doctor work her way through her latest acquirement: an entire bag of white chocolate chips. As Akande's smooth voice laid out their next plans, she found herself glancing back at Moira with amusement.

She tracked her down afterwards, studying her carefully before making the attempt. "Hey, Moira!" Sombra tagged along just behind her, unable to hide a catlike grin. "I need something!"

Moira stopped long enough to let Sombra catch up to her in the hallway, then resumed her stride. "Go on."

It was worth a shot to ask her, she figured. The worst Moira could do was say no. "Do you have any cotton candy?" she asked, letting out a sigh filled with longing. "You know, the super fake one they sell in bags. Oh! Or animal crackers in white fudge?"

Moira's forehead crinkled. "Why do you need that?"

"For science." When that didn't net a reaction, Sombra huffed. "I'm craving it, boba."

The older woman grew suspicious. She didn't respond until they were back at her clinic, grumbling under her breath. "And what makes you think I have it?"

"Well? Do you?"

Moira met her eyes a while longer, squinting in displeasure. Then she motioned for Sombra to follow. "Step into my office."

Inside the clinic was a closed off section— more like a closet, really— for Moira to conduct her business. There was just enough room for a desk and a few filing cabinets. Moira held infamous disdain for paperwork and red tape of any kind, but was fond of transcribing her notes and thoughts down for Talon records. Often Sombra would find her in here, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her hair askew, the gel no longer holding its shape as she mused over her documents.

With her hands deep in her lab coat's pockets, Moira kicked a steel locker next to her desk. It popped open with a clang, and resting inside... was the motherlode. More candy and sweets than any human could reasonably consume in a year, packed together next to gallons of soda and three bottles of whiskey.

"What time is it?" Moira wondered, rubbing her chin.

Sombra checked. "Five fifteen."

"Excellent." She took out two highballs and mixed some drinks for them. Half whiskey, half soda for Sombra, and straight whiskey for herself. "Cheers," she said, and drank the whole thing down like it was water.

"Damn." She took a few careful sips, trying not to cough after each one. It was like breathing fire. "You're kind of a wild bitch, aren't you?"

"I haven't the faintest idea of what you mean," Moira said, well into her second glass. She was showing signs of slowing down by the third, at least. "But I've been told I thrive in high-chaos environments, which rings somewhat of the truth."

"And explains why you're here."

Her long fingernails ran a shivering circle over the rim of her glass. "I'm here because of Gabriel."

Ah, Gabrielito. Truth be told, he was something like the glue that held this whole mess together. "Same. You like him or something?"

"He writes my paychecks." Moira cracked open a bag of animal crackers, letting them spill onto her desk. She gestured at them vaguely, plucking one out and munching on it with a distracted expression.

Sombra settled in for a long chat, intending to stay until the good doctor kicked her out. There wasn't much to learn about Moira, truth be told. She was an open book. But it never hurt to do research, and it looked like she had the hook-up when it came to disgusting, awful, unhealthy snacks. Sombra was also admittedly a little smitten after watching her knock back that first glass.

"All this sugar's bad for you, you know." She wanted to see how Moira would respond to a little good-natured ribbing. "Aren't you a doctor?"

"I don't care," Moira said around a mouthful of crackers. She swallowed, washing it down with another shot. "My interest lies in experimentation and discovery more than the actual mundane application of my ideas. Knowledge for knowledge's sake."

 _What a fucking mess,_ Sombra thought, somewhat in awe. "What do I owe you for this, by the way?" She nibbled on one of the crackers, savoring it. The craving hungered for more, but she took a bit of pleasure in denying it to herself now that it was right within reach.

"Nothing." Moira shrugged off her lab coat and rested it over the back of her chair. They sat side by side, perched on her desk in the cramped room. "A little company now and then is welcome."

"Aren't you a major introvert?"

Much to her relief, Moira cracked open a bottle of water. She set the whiskey back inside her locker before nudging it closed again with the toe of her dress shoe. "I don't find you draining."

"I'm flattered."

This was the most relaxed she'd ever seen the doctor, who always appeared tightly wound. Moira loosened her bright red tie, sighing in relief as she undid the top button of her shirt. "You should be."

Ego to spare was par for the course with Moira, but Sombra found it especially amusing when Moira said it with such a straight face and a rainbow sprinkle caught on her cheek. Leaning closer, she wiped it from Moira's face and licked it off her thumb. "What if we get called on a mission in ten minutes?"

Moira frowned. "Then I would go on the mission."

"Aren't you scared Gabi's gonna scold you for this?" she polished off her drink to demonstrate, wincing at the slow, steady burn.

She flexed the empty water bottle in her hands, nails crinkling straight through the plastic. "I like being in trouble," Moira said at last. She was frowning, but not from the idea of Gabriel's ire. She wiped her mouth clean with the back of her hand, checking for more sprinkles. "It's how I know I'm doing what others won't. Someone afraid of mistakes is someone with something to lose."

After months spent dancing around, speaking in riddles with Akande and Gabriel, Moira's terrifying bluntness was refreshing. Sombra couldn't keep herself from asking more and more questions, intrigued by the fact that Moira always seemed willing to give her a straight answer.

As someone accustomed to digging hard for the truth, it was a welcome change of pace.

"You like making mistakes, huh." With liquid courage bolstering her, Sombra scooted a little closer. She rested her palm on Moira's thigh, enjoying the way the other woman twitched in surprise. "Wanna go back to my room and make a few more?"

Moira's cool, blank expression never changed. But to Sombra's delight and shock, two spots of color appeared high on her pale cheeks. For a moment she looked like an overloaded omnic, contradicting code sending a million circuits aflame.

"Excuse you?" Moira said, voice chilly.

"What?" Sombra took the rest of the bag, holding it away from Moira so she couldn't hog them. "You're gay, right?"

Moira spoke carefully. "I'm a lesbian. But I'm... I'm, ah... I'm very busy," she finished lamely.

"I can see that." Sombra gave the whiskey glasses a pointed look. "Listen. You're my type, and I'm curious about how you fuck with those nails." She smirked when Moira immediately hid her hands behind her back, like they hadn't been in full view before. "No hard feelings if you say no."

"This could be a bad idea," Moira mused, more to herself than to Sombra.

"Oh," Sombra said, "It definitely is."

This side of Moira she was more familiar with. Stern and serious, always doing calculations. But now Sombra knew Moira leaned more towards calculated risks, for the thrill of it just as much as the chance to do something different. Sombra felt like she understood her a little better now after their short talk; who knew what she'd learn after fucking her?

Standing straighter, Moira moves to be in front of her, staring down at her with that same severe frown. Her pale eyebrows pinched together, a dark line creasing between them as her eyes darted down Sombra's body. The two spots of color never went away; if anything, they deepened into a full blush.

_That's... kind of cute._

"Ah..." Moira said, running a hand through her red hair. Her mismatched eyes didn't seem to know where to land, but Sombra was pleased to note they kept dipping down to her chest. Setting her shoulders back, she arched her spine a little to give it more prominence. "...You're very pretty. So I'm curious why—"

She was getting impatient, but she knew when to push and when to wait. Taking the end of  Moira's tie, she gave it a tug, and smiled when Moira stepped forward as if pulled by a leash. "I already told you why."

"I see."

Somehow, that settled it. Moira's shoulders went square, like she'd just received a mission, and she brought one clawed hand up to cup Sombra's face. The other rested on her shoulder, cautiously polite. So Sombra dragged it down to her breast instead and forced her to give it a squeeze.

The kiss was unbearably gentle, and unexpectedly sweet. In more ways than one. Moira's lips brushed over hers, a hint of sugar still on her tongue when Sombra eagerly opened up to her. Less curious now and more excited, Sombra pulled her jacket off and unzipped her body suit. Moira kissed down her neck, exploring each patch of skin as it was revealed to her.

"You're so hot," Sombra murmured, slipping the rest of Moira's tie loose before working on her shirt buttons. She was wearing a sports bra underneath. Running a thumb over the tight fabric, she smiled to find her nipples standing in response to the light touch.

Moira returned the favor, curiously toying with the silver loops pierced through her nipples. Sombra didn't bother hiding a groan when Moira pinched one between her fingers and tugged.

She raised one eyebrow. "Are you feigning that for my benefit?"

Sombra was rarely interested in being fair, or tit for tat. But Moira charmed her somewhat, so she gave her an honest answer in return for all she'd received. "I don't do anything just because it makes life easier for someone else."

Moira barked in laughter, throwing her head back. "That's in line with what Akande says about you."

They kissed again, messier than before. A warm breath on Sombra's stomach made her giggle, and Moira paused long enough to smile up at her. "You'll have to teach me what you like," she warned her, palms spreading out over Sombra's thighs to part them. "It's been a while since I—"

"Moira, you talk too fucking much." She rested a hand over Moira's head, coiling her fist in her hair to give it an experimental tug. To her satisfaction, Moira let out a choked noise of pleasure, eyes fluttering shut. "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Now get to work."

"Oh," Moira huffed breathlessly, cheeks suffused with warmth. "Oh, yes. Yes ma'am."

[Sombra had a feeling this was going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RIXWaXVKjq0)


End file.
